Forgettable
by always-briana
Summary: From District 7 comes a girl who's never been much except for a story teller. Follow the story of Hadley Rhodes as she struggles with her very real evil step-mother and the Fifty Third Hunger Games that she has no change of winning.


Chapter One

Fairytales

You should know something about District 7 citizens, since we are one of the least well known districts and aside from me I don't think anyone else will tell you about us. We like a good story. When the whole family's out in the woods hacking away at the trees we like listening to the soft voice of our parents or maybe siblings, so soft that we have to lean closer and closer to the speaker instead of doing our job. That's when the Peacekeepers come 'round, barking at us in their funny District 2 accents. We smile and nod, turning back to the trees that will be used to make maple chairs and mahogany tables that the Capitol citizens are so fond of. We receive nothing in return except for the family time with plenty of stories and a small amount of money for our father. I've caught a few Peacekeepers listening in to my stories of dragons and castles, stories they told as bedtime stories before Panem. These stories gave us something to believe in. Some have even become fanatics about a collection of stories called the Bible with an almighty unknown figure. My step-mother is one of the fanatics and soon my stories were cut out of work and replaced with story after story of a character called Jesus, sometimes she brings prayers into the woods as well and all I can think about is how it suffocates me.

My step-mother took everything that was mine and now I'm stuck listening to life lessons through burning bushes and mighty floods. Here in Panem floods only mean one thing and that is the creation of our world. Along with droughts and fires, floods destroyed the land leaving people, those soon to name themselves citizens of the Capitol, to pick up the pieces then take charge of those remaining. Following after was the formation of the thirteen districts and then the rebellion. The result? One demolished District 13 and the infamous Hunger Games. Everything leads back to the Games, even floods and arks. You can see why I detest Bible stories then. Fairytales are supposed to distract instead of remind and as Ciara, the wicked step-mother herself, leads the family in some prayer before work I begin slashing away at the strong oak in front of me to drown out the sound of her voice.

"Amen." Ciara's voice sounds like a Capitol citizen's accent, high pitched and all. Two years ago, when my father brought her home, she was dressed up as a Capitol citizen as well because that is her original home. Now she stands like a sore thumb in her overrated clothes and golden curls.

Right now, sitting on a stump we have yet to remove, she reminds of a doe. She isn't a sight to be missed but she also is stupid to venture out into the open and sooner or later she'll have to run back to the safety of the trees.

"Hadley, sweetie, the idea is that we say it together…" Her mouth opens again as if she's about to say something else, but minutes pass before she adds, "As a family."

I can't help it, I snort at her words. "Next time then." The sweetest smile I can summon forms on my face, only to be replaced later by my usual determined look once the real work begins.

The only people that do damage to the trees are May, Dev, Dad, and me while Ivy and Ciara sit around to watch. We work in unison, chopping the trees to the ground then rolling them out of the way before someone –that someone being Ciara– trips. Up until recently I would like to picture my ginger haired clan as someone watching from a distance. It would be beautiful, the rhythmic sound of axe against wood, smiles on the clan's freckled faces despite the beads of sweat forming on their foreheads, and little Ivy linking good ol' Chess, a strong Palomino horse, to the fallen trees. That picture is disrupted now; a lean woman with a golden cross lying on her chest has changed my perfect vision.

Ivy stands by Chess stroking his side, for a nine year old Ivy is plenty tall, the gene that I lack. Her red curls lay perfectly still against her back while mine swing in time with my axe. I remember being the Ivy of the family, it wasn't hard work, however, I recall my heart beating violently during the Reaping. I had watched my two older siblings twiddle their thumbs and hold their breath. Now it's Ivy watching Dev have his last reaping and me still stuck in my fifth. May's last was three years ago during the Quarter Quell when Haymitch Abernathy was crowned victor. Tomorrow will mark the beginning of the road to the Fifty Third Hunger Games and everyone is dreading it like usual, but there is still work to do so the Rhodes family continues their job.

"I think today we should hear a story."

Kellan Rhodes is a huge man with a stead voice. Being his daughter I've come to respect his "I-only-speak-if-I-have-something-to-say" nature. Most people have decided to either love or hate him, the latter being a long, crooked road. However, those who learn to accept his behavior realize that they have made an ally in a man who knows what he's saying. They figure it out that what he says _is_ important and so when I hear him say this I perk up, hoping he means to my kind of stories instead of Ciara's.

"I would love to share the story of Adam and Eve!" pipes Ciara.

"Actually, I was thinking Hadley would like to share something." His deep brown eyes meet my grey ones, eyes that I shared with my mother. It's a secret look and by the quick nod in the direction of Ivy I realize what he wants me to do. It's time to share the Rhodes' version of how to explain the Hunger Games.

Like an excited toddler, I nod quickly and throw my axe into the ground before flinging myself into an unoccupied stump. I'm not the only one acting like a child though, as Ciara watches me I catch a glimpse of a pout, but I don't really care. My dad wants _me_ to tell the story for Ivy like Dev told me when I was younger. I can feel the story form on my lips, my version of the story that is, this one will be all mine.

"Once upon a time there were two children named Hansel and Gretel who lived in a lush forest just like our own. Their father sold wood to the nearby village and because it was laborious work he would have his children help him. The day brought sunny weather so the three of them set out into the trees to work, not knowing that the woodcutter's jealous second wife was watching them from the home." I steal a nervous glance at Ciara whose eyebrows are knitted together as she listens.

"The step mother wasn't evil, not really. She was just moved with such great jealousy of the children that she would do anything to get her husband's time and attention. And so the raven haired step-mother set out into the woods to separate Hansel and Gretel from their father, however, long ago their father predicted this happening so he stood in front of his children, handing Hansel his axe and Gretel his knife. 'You are in danger, my children. Take these weapons and run as fast as you can, trust no one and kill those who threaten you. Most importantly stay away from the candy cottage where the One Eyed Witch waits for children to come plot them against one other so she can feast on their bones. Avoid temptation and you will be fine.' He pat their heads and kissed their cheeks in a hurry fearing his wife was nearby then fled. Hansel and Gretel were left alone in woods that had been so familiar to them moments ago, now they looked so dark and spooky as if the sun vanished. Fearing that the forest would swallow them up they began their journey, moved only by fear and instinct." The sound of chopping wood slows as I speak and I feel my lips curl up into a smile involuntarily. I only meant to take a moment to breathe, but apparently it's much longer than that because Ivy urges me to go on.

"You can't stop there!" She pleads.

Chuckling, I nod at her, "I know. I was only taking a quick break. Now where was I?"

"They're running through the woods!" Ivy tells me even if I'm perfectly aware.

"Oh right! Well Hansel and Gretel didn't make it too far for the axe weighed down Hansel and Gretel soon tired from sprinting ahead of her brother. The two walked side by side until Gretel stopped dead in her tracks. They had found the candy cottage. 'Gretel, we must keep moving.' Her brother urged, but he too was getting mesmerized by the cottage despite the blood fight going on in front of it between two girls. 'Only the best can enter!' cried the One Eyed Witch from inside the house. One of the girls wielding a long sword expertly ended the fight with one fatal blow and at that exact moment the witch flew out of her room like a hawk targeting her prey. 'Good job, my dear.' she purred, one hand on the girl's shoulder and the other taking away the sword as she steered her to the frosting coated house. 'Now for your award!' The witch let out a fearsome cackle and the girl realized what she had won, her own peril."

"But why?" interrupts Ivy. Her doe eyes are wide with horror. I picture her as little Gretel but instead of her roam through the forests, I see the Hunger Games arena.

"Because sometimes you're promised something extraordinary, but you get quite the opposite." I reply, staring at my father who knows instantly what the treacherous woods stand for. "But guess what?" My eyes rest back on Ivy.

"What?"

"Hansel and Gretel were already so hypnotized by the cottage lined with gumdrops and candy canes. Their imaginations soared while thinking of the possibilities of what the inside of the home looked like. They were so oblivious that they didn't even hear the screams of the girl. 'Two more want to fight?' It was the witch, her head poking out of the window. 'Well step up and fight to see what's hidden behind door number one.' These siblings eagerly stepped forward at just the idea of entering the magic cottage. Hansel held his axe tightly, already picturing his sister laying a pool of blood and him entering the candy house. The same thing was going through Gretel's mind, but she winced at the thought and that moment of hesitation cost Gretel her life as Hansel swung his axe, taking her head clean off."

I savor the sound of Ivy's gasp and May's axe dropping to the ground. Their attention is all on me as I continue my story, "He had made a grave mistake, just like the girl before him. Not only was he going to be cooked by the witch, but he had taken his own sister's life. The witch roared with laughter as she ushered Hansel in and added him to the line of children waiting for death."

It is Ciara who speaks first, "He'll be going to hell then."

Fists clenched and jaw set, I look at Ciara's fragile body ruined by one Capitol surgery too many. Her mouth is running even as I give her this fierce look. I only hear snippets of what she says. "Killing is a sin." "He'll burn in hell." "Gretel will have to watch her brother from heaven."

"For _once,_ I beg of you, do not connect this story to your imaginary God. This story isn't from the bible, it doesn't have any angels. Did I mention your Jesus? No! It is a fairytale!" I've moved in front of Ciara without realizing it. Her expression resembles mine, pissed off, but this angry screaming from me was coming to her no matter if I hadn't done it just then.

"Oh look at the time, we best be going home to make dinner." Dev saves me from further screaming.

"Fine." I mumbled, "I'll load the wood. You can start without me."

Without meaning to, I rip Chess' reins from Ivy's grasp much too fiercely. My little sister looks at me and I can practically see the word confused stamped across her pale forehead. Nodding towards out home, I offer her a small smile. On nights when thunder rumbled as it rolled through our forests I would share this smile only with her after I finished a story as if everything about the night was some secret.

"I'll stay back with her." There's his voice again, low and hesitant as if we're not worthy of his words. I can see why some people dislike my father, there's a touch of superiority to his tone that I've come to live with.

"Why would you want to do that?" I match his tone easily. Authority, it seems, runs in the family.

For a moment, right before he's about to reply, a smirk forming slowly, I see it. I see my father as a sixteen year old with shaggy, dark red hair and smiling eyes. I see the handsome lumberjack who could weave a whole story with only an idea. My mind paints a picture, him sitting in front of a bonfire telling the story of Little Red Riding Hood as my mother hung onto every word, slowly falling in love with the story teller. But then golden haired Ciara replaced my young mother and just like that, the picture fades.

The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, I half expect talking unicorns and dancing dwarves to jump right out of our old storybook to finish such a beautiful image on such a despised day. If this character, God, really does exist He loves to play with our minds, and shouldn't He be saving us instead of watching us die? I'll save that for later when I want to bother Ciara. If I make it that far that is.

"Your dress is on the bed." May tells me as she examines her face scarred with burns and bruises in our only mirror that is cracked on top.

I stand in the bedroom which I share with May and Ivy. It's not much, just a dressed and a decent sized bed that fits us all. A quilt lies across it with mismatched squares and loose strings, our mother made it. She had never been a good knitter. May is in charge of that now. I take after her, everything I've managed to patch together ripped on its first day, pretty pitiful. However, the green dress lying on the quilt isn't sloppily sewed together at all; it's actually pretty compared to my other clothes. Its light grass color doesn't clash with my red locks I notice as I fiddle with the edge of the fabric.

"You do realize you have to put it on. Nothing's going to happen if you keep staring at it." No wonder May's so calm, her life is not at risk like Dev's and mine. She's safe while we're in the place between death and life. We're practically being groomed for death, we even dress up for our funerals.

I stick my tongue out at her like I did when we were still watching Dad do all the work in the forests. She merely smiles in response then nods in the direction of the dress before leaving. Suppressing a frustrated groan I peel off my clothes and head into what we consider our bathroom which connected to our room. There I was the remains of the forest off my pale skin with the clean enough water and dirty rag. Soon Dev is slamming on the door saying to hurry up because he has to piss. Ciara yells at him from the kitchen.

"I'm out!" I call to him returning to my room where the green dress lies, along with a surprised visitor.

"DOVE!" I scream at my friend who rolls her eyes as I hide my body behind the quilt which I grab off of the bed.

"Hadley, we've been best friends for how long? We used to take baths together." My blonde friend chuckles to herself.

Dove resembles her name more than I mine. In no means do I look like a meadow unless you're talking about a meadow with dark blood marking the green grass like the arena during Haymitch Abernathy's year. Dove's hair is so blonde it's almost white like a dove's wings. She's as graceful as one as well, but I promise you she doesn't eat like a bird. Despite my friend's skinny frame she can manage to eat all the food my family eats in a day.

"Well if you're looking for a bath you're going to have to go back home."

"Oh stop being such a downer. I just wanted to wish you good luck." Dove makes her way to the bed and picks up the green dress. She examines it before throwing it over to me.

"Did you wish Dev good luck too?" A smirk spreads across my face as I pull on my underwear and bra that were in the top drawer of the dresser. Without hesitating I put on the green dress as well, trying not to think of whose dress it is. It's not May's or my mother's which only leaves Ciara and I shudder at that idea.

"Well why wouldn't I?" Dove and Dev's relationship isn't a secret though they tried to keep it like that for a while and it looks like Dove's still fantasizing about a forbidden love. "Oh, you look good, Had."

"I'd rather not talk about this dress." I reply.

For a moment I wish to be in Dove's shoes. She lives in a family of all girls and they wouldn't let any of their sisters go to the Hunger Games if it wasn't their choice so if Dove is reaped there's always the chance one of her sisters will volunteer for her.

Dove rolls her eyes again, probably annoyed by my hatred for Ciara. "Whatever, Had, see you at the town square then."

"Wait, Dove." Before she leaves I rush forward and hug her from behind. "May the odds be ever in your favor."

She turns and returns the hug, not saying anything in reply however. A faint smile is on her face as she leaves. That's my Dove, the girl who isn't afraid of anything. I'm the opposite, I can deal with all the monsters in my stories, but there's no way I would be able to deal with them in reality, Ciara for example. She's one of my monsters in real life and this dress is only a reminder. It makes me look like I belong in the Capitol instead of District 7 despite its simple design of a pleated skirt and buttoned down blouse type top. My face proves my loyalty to my district, though. Like May's, splotches of red scatter across my skin and a long scar runs down from my eye to chin that I got from getting hit in the face by a free falling branch. Hard work has scarred me and will continue to until I die. This is why beauty has never been valued in our district, it's unrealistic. We are built with muscles and scars, not man-made perfection.

"Do you like it?" The door is cracked open and there stands the definition of man-made perfection, Ciara.

I'll spare her I decide. "It's lovely, Ciara."

Her face lights up with a large smile and for a moment I regret hating her, but the feeling goes as quickly as it came.

"Well…er, time to go." She disappears into the room that serves as a living room, dining room, and entrance hall.

How must she feel to watch people she now knows suffer as their children die? And to think she used to throw kisses at the tributes in their chariots and then watch them die, begging for more blood.

I decide I can respect Ciara, at least for now. For someone to change their ways like that so they can be with someone they love is amazing, but I'm not saying that I like her; I'm saying that she's worth respecting, nothing more and nothing less.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**So hi everyone! This is Briana and it would be lovely if you would rate and review! I'm hoping you all got the whole Hansel and Gretel story and did anyone catch the mahogany joke? ;) **


End file.
